


Maybe, One Day

by calliope_calling



Series: Teresa and James Extended Scenes [3]
Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:34:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23090308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calliope_calling/pseuds/calliope_calling
Summary: Season 2, Episode 1 -- extended scenes (Part 1). A bit of silent tension.
Relationships: Teresa Mendoza/James Valdez
Series: Teresa and James Extended Scenes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535219
Kudos: 28





	Maybe, One Day

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t put my works in chapters, they’re just in a series, but they do build on each other as extended scenes; in other words, this one won’t make a lot of sense without reading my previous scenes for season 1. This one is for the first part of Season 2, episode 1. That episode has a lot going on in it so my material for Jeresa will span at least two stories.
> 
> Title for this one comes from an Hotel Apache song of the same name (actually I think the song is kind of annoying... but the title is good hehe).

Driving back to the border from El Limpiador’s, James kept stealing glances back at Teresa in the rearview mirror. As usual, she spent most of the drive staring out the window in silence. With his aviators concealing his eyes, James allowed himself to study her for any traces of what she’d been through over the last several days since she’d run away with Brenda. Her face was bruised where she’d been cut and her eyes seemed weathered, but her quiet stoicism masked what was surely unbearable grief at losing her friend. James of course didn’t know Brenda, but he knew she was one of the last threads connecting Teresa to her old life, her life before Guero had died and she’d escaped Epifanio only to land in Camila’s cage. He hadn’t known Guero either, really—he’d met him a few times through business dealings with Epifanio—but he had a hard time reconciling the Teresa he knew with the posturing, smooth-talking cheat he knew Guero to be.

Given everything that had happened in the last days James knew too that their, um, visit to Camila’s graveyard was probably the last thing on her mind. It was far from the last thing on his. Seeing her again, bloody and poised burying Brenda at El Limpiador’s, he’d felt a lump in his throat, an unbidden urge to envelop her and melt her pain away. He’d swallowed hard, remembering her mouth on his, her warm, fierce body pressed into his, her hands intertwined with his. Now things would be different: Teresa was coming back to Camila on her own terms and with a new shell of grief. He half-heartedly tried to assure himself, as he eyed her again in the seat behind him, that none of that would get in the way of their business relationship.

***

After a skirmish with who Camila believed to be the Feds, the crew arrived at her safehouse. James noticed Teresa eyeing the place incredulously. It was a far cry from her former digs at Camila’s warehouse. He handed her a burner phone and told her to get settled—they could be here a while. He tried not to feel uneasy when Teresa asked him to leave her and Camila alone to talk and he went to the kitchen to make some phone calls—while they’d gotten across the border under the radar this time, Teresa would need actual papers for the inevitable next time she needed to travel.

About ten minutes later Camila called James in to join them in her study.

“James, I need you to track down George Megalos,” she ordered.

“King George? The infamous pirate?”

“That’s right. I need you to figure out how to get in touch with him and set up a meeting.”

James nodded briskly and side-eyed Teresa. Her eyes were averted, hands folded tensely on her lap.

“Very good. You’re dismissed. Both of you.” Camila waved them out of the study.

Teresa stood up and James held the door for her, hissing in her ear as she walked out ahead of him. “King George? He’s a lunatic. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m trying to help Camila. She needs a new way to get her drugs into the country. She can no longer rely on Epifanio’s routes.”

“I’m very aware of all that. That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking why King George?”

Teresa shrugged slightly as she stepped into the kitchen and turned to face him. “I don’t know, James. Do you have a better plan?” she challenged.

James sighed and wiped his hand down his face. “I’m just not sure if you know what you’re getting into.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” she said. “But I’m sure I’ll find out.”

He searched for something in her eyes, anything, that hinted at what had passed between them. She blinked calmly at him but he saw mostly fatigue and guardedness. He touched her gently on the shoulder, rubbed his thumb lightly up and down her sleeve. “Sorry,” he acknowledged, “I’m just trying to watch out for you. I don’t trust Camila’s intentions with you.” After lingering another moment with no reaction from her, he shoved his hand back in his jacket pocket.

She looked down at her feet and licked her lips slightly before meeting James’s eyes again. “Thank you,” she said, “I appreciate that.” She turned to go but paused briefly, turned back again to look up at him. He waited for her to say something but she clearly thought the better of it, shaking her head almost imperceptibly as she walked away.

***

They danced around each other like this for the next several days. James successfully located a contact who was able to radio George and set up a meet and greet for a few days later. There wasn’t too much to do in the meantime. Camila was antsy and irritable, Pote was restless, Teresa mostly stayed in her room, and James, accustomed to constant crisis, didn’t know quite what to do with himself. He and Teresa tried to play cards one night, but she threw her hand down in irritation after a few minutes. He tried to have a movie night with Pote, but all Pote wanted to watch was _Soy tu duena_ , so James threw in the towel. It was with relief that he loaded up with Teresa in the wee hours of the morning on Thursday to head to Corpus Christi to meet George.

It was a long drive—just under six hours if they avoided traffic and exceeded the speed limit. He had to be careful, though; he didn’t want to get on anyone’s radar, state police or otherwise. They left at 4am. Teresa looked gaunt as she climbed into the car, eyes hollow, with the cut on her face from El Limpiador still slightly scabbed. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders. She was beautiful in a way he couldn’t quite access; no matter what had happened between them, he knew it wasn’t for him. Inextricable from her beauty was pain—both hard and tender.

For the first few hours, neither of them said anything much. They stared out at the road, the classical music radio station playing softly in the background. (James didn’t like pop or country; Brahms and Shostakovich helped him connect to his inner self.) James didn’t mind the quiet; he preferred it, even. With Teresa, silence was calm and companionable. He realized with a bit of a grimace that despite all the agony Teresa had suffered in the last few months, he himself felt more engaged and connected than he’d felt in a long time. She had woken something up in him, something he didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to put back to sleep.

A few hours into the drive Teresa cleared her throat. “About the other night,” she began.

“I understand, it’s ok,” James quickly interjected.

“Understand what?” She looked at him curiously.

James fidgeted. He glanced out the driver side window and turned back to the front. Pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and sniffed. “That it can’t happen again,” he said. Teresa blinked calmly at him, a hint of warmth on her eyes, waiting for him to go on. He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb. “Look. We can’t let our guards down. Mixing business and pleasure could be dangerous for both of us. Especially you.”

He was sure he wasn’t wrong about the slight hint of amusement at the corner of her mouth. “I was going to say that I was sorry for throwing a fit during our card game. I was distracted and irritable, I’m sorry.”

James swallowed and thanked the stars he was wearing sunglasses and driving so he could avoid making eye contact with Teresa. “Oh, yeah, no problem,” he muttered, “I get it.” He turned the volume up on the radio, Schubert’s _Death and the Maiden_ , and flinched, just a little, at the aptness of the music. They didn’t talk for the rest of the drive. Teresa, apparently, didn’t have anything else to say.


End file.
